


Underdressed

by decotex



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drunk Hannibal, Gen, Kinda fluff, OC, OCs - Freeform, also fashion, also it's kinda gay, basically hannibal gets some action, i sure do, it's also kinda straight, the best kind of hannibal, you know you want it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decotex/pseuds/decotex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal couldn’t remember the last time he had felt underdressed. Probably, he decided, as he took in the black marble room full of peacocking members of the fashion industry, because he had repressed that memory.<br/>He smiled at the people staring and took a large sip of wine.<br/>His next dinner party was going to be fantastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal goes to a fashion show, and it all goes downhill from there.

Hannibal couldn’t remember the last time he had felt underdressed. Probably, he decided, as he took in the black marble room full of peacocking members of the fashion industry, because he had repressed that memory.

He had, of course, worn a suit. In fact, Hannibal had changed out of his day suit (brown plaid with a paisley purple tie) into something more “formal”, in accordance with the invitation; a dark blue one-button jacket, a matching vest, flat-front slacks, and a black tie. It leaned on the reserved side, relative to the rest of his clothing, but it was his first time at an event of this type and he elected to play it safe.

The term ‘formal event’ was both an understatement and a misnomer. “Wear all of your money” would have been a better direction. The people appeared to be wearing everything bright, shiny, and patterned that had ever graced the cover of a magazine or walked the runway-everything except a plain suit.

People were staring. Which usually didn’t bother him, but he could see what they were thinking. He looked . . . improper. Out of place. Incongruous. Inadequate. Unrefined.

Poor, even.

Hannibal was no stranger to the arts, but he tended towards the refined, the unobtrusive. Flamboyant too often coincided with obnoxious, and a desire to stand out with an inflated ego. However, it had not occurred to him that at a fashion week party, big egos are implied, and a plain suit will stand out more than a man in a dress, as evidenced by the toned gentlemen sipping champagne across the room.  
He smiled at the people staring and took a large sip of wine.

His next dinner party was going to be fantastic.

“Hannibal, dear.”

He turned, relieved to finally encounter an acquaintance.

“Marie. Ah, so good to . . . see you.”

He thought he did a good job of hiding the distress.

She was wearing a tree.

The-robe? dress? structure?-had a long transparent train with brown lengths of fabric trailing down from the waist, giving the impression of roots. The sleeves were brown with droopy green leaves dangling from the sides and tufts of silk cherry blossoms near the hands. The bust was made of leaves and had stiff brown fabric-”branches”-jutting out at random angles, housing more leaves and flowers. Her hat was an enormous cherry blossom.

It was not even the most awful outfit he had seen so far, and this made him sad.

“Do you like it? The sculptor, this wonderful Italian man that I know, offered to let me borrow it for the night.”

“Was his goal to make you look like a plant?”

She beamed.

“Oh, yes!”

“Well then, Marie, he achieved his objective completely.”

She laughed and touched his arm playfully.

“Oh, Hannibal. I know this is not your usual event, but I truly appreciate you taking me up on my invitation. It’s absolutely dreadful to go to an event like this alone.”

“Yes, I can definitely imagine so. You know the designer?”

“Yes, have you met him? I haven’t talked to him yet, let me introduce you.” As she spoke, Marie turned and looked around the room.

“Thank you, but I am sure he is very busy,” Hannibal said quickly. “I would not want to intrude.”

“This is his party. And he designed all this.” She waved vaguely around the room, softly as not to upset the leaves. “Don’t you want to meet him?”

Hannibal did not want to meet him. Of all people, Hannibal knows the value of first impressions and of keeping up appearances. The host’s first impression of Hannibal would be “that man who doesn’t know how to dress.” Being underdressed was borderline impolite, something that Hannibal was used to seeing in others but unable to apply to himself.

Marie, with arms carefully held away from her torso in order to spare the branches, lead him past a life-size bronze elephant, through a maze of carnival freaks-fashion patrons, he corrected himself-to a table near the back of the room. One of the men seated at the table went to greet them.

He was wearing a coat that had probably been an entire animal at some point in its sad life, and bright orange pants.

“Marie Komeda, my friend!” he said cheerfully, placing his hand on her back.

“Always a welcome face at my little shows.”

“And as always, you’ve outdone yourself. This is beautiful,” she said. He dipped his head in thanks.

“Ah, but how could you!” he said, gesturing. “My darling, you are dressed so beautifully. How could models of mine possibly compare? You will put me out of a job, yes?”

“Oh, Richard,” she laughed. “You’re always so charming. Allow me to introduce an old friend, Doctor Hannibal Lecter.” They both turned to look at Hannibal. Richard’s eyes dipped down, and if Hannibal had been anyone else he would have become conscious of his posture. He knew when he was being judged. He silently drank his wine. It tasted thicker than normal.

"Hannibal, Richard Faris."

Hannibal smiled and held out his hand.

"Mr. Faris-"

"Please, Richard," he said, with a strong but brief handshake.

"Richard, a pleasure."

This man was one impolite statement away from breakfast.

"You must excuse me, boys. I have to greet the other guests. I'll see you two at the show." Marie hustled off into the crowd.

"Richard," said Hannibal, once Marie had left. "I apologize for being underdressed. I think I stand out among all of your well-dressed colleagues."

"Ah, nonsense! A suit such as this never goes out of style. Wide lapels, wide tie knot-very powerful. It says, ‘I am not afraid of you. I am not afraid to show aggression, to show passion.’ All men can wear a suit, but you wear a suit." Hannibal sensed no condescension in his voice. In fact-

Oh god.

"I appreciate the validation. Events of this type are not my forte, but they are certainly yours."

"Oh, have you no interest in fashion? Mrs. Lecter dragged you here, I imagine.”

Never again. No more fashion week. No more fashion shows. Nothing even vaguely related to clothing.

“Ah, there is no Mrs. Lecter. And I am very interested in art. The world is a very beautiful place, and I am interested in the different ways of interpreting it. However, in this. . . boldness of expression, I think, I am best suited as an observer rather than a participant.”

“That is interesting, because I think, I mean, if you were willing, you could pull off high fashion very well.” He took Hannibal’s empty wine glass from his hand and replaced it with one from the table behind him.  
Marie, where was Marie? He scanned the crowd briefly over Richard’s shoulder.

“Thank you. And it was a pleasure meeting you. I will let you get back to your business.”

Richard’s eyes lingered.

“Doctor Lecter, would you do me a small favor?”

No. Leave.

 “Ah, it depends.”

“I’ve got to get backstage to prepare, but if you would join me, I’ve got a fantastic coat with your name on it. It would be a great help, honestly.”

Hannibal stared.

He was proud of his stare. It was neutral but not weak. It allowed him a mask of passivity while he considered his options.

He could leave. He wanted to leave. He had wanted to leave the minute he walked in the door. There were a few problems with this idea. Firstly, he had vallet parked, and people would continue to arrive until the show started. The vallet probably wouldn’t even be able to get his car until later that night. Secondly, it would be rude to Richard. And last, but probably most importantly, he was a fighter. Leaving now would mean that the fashion world had won, that they had successfully scared Doctor Hannibal Lecter into running away. Hannibal did not run away, unless he was planning on coming back later that night with a cleaver.

He could stay but turn Richard down. This, also, was an attractive option, except for the fact that all of the nearby tables had seen and heard Richard ask him backstage, and he had no real or fake excuse not to.  
The crowd watched him expectantly from their seats.

This was going to be terrible.

“Of course. Anything to help.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Hannibal, this is Anna. Please let her remove your clothes.”

She’s pretty, he thought idly as he allowed the girl to unbutton his $1400 Belstaff coat. Someone was going to die for this. He wasn’t sure who, but someone. Maybe even several people.

At least he’s not doing it himself.

“Let me help you with that.”

Hannibal felt large hands reaching around over his shoulders and pulling the coat off. Richard’s thumbs brushed Hannibal’s neck, and he realized that he could die today. Had he let his guard down? Of all the ways he had pictured himself dying, this was definitely the strangest and the least heterosexual.

Anna smiled shy at him, without meeting his eyes. She looked young; probably an intern or PA. Hannibal almost felt bad for her-but not too bad, his ego reminded him, as she unbuttoned his shirt. If Hannibal was one thing, it was prideful.

And toned. Definitely toned.

Richard rubbed his shoulder as he pulled his shirt off, definitely on purpose. An involuntary moan almost escaped Hannibal, before he caught himself, horrified.

Hannibal couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment his life had spun out of control. Why, just this morning he had cooked a perfectly normal omelette with a braised ground liver sauce. He had gotten in his Bentley and driven to the office. He had talked Elizabeth Harmon through her deipnophobia. He had driven home, taken a shower, and changed his clothes. And somehow, in the two hours since then, fate had left him standing half-naked backstage at a fashion show, being undressed by an almost certainly gay man and his female assistant.

“Anna, fetch the coat please. The one on rack six.”

  
Richard stepped back and blatantly performed what was generally referred to as a “checking out”.

“Could you turn around, please?

I’m drunk, Hannibal realized, as he did. It came as a surprise because that kind of thing didn’t happen to him often. He was usually too careful. But he was almost sure that there was no way he would submit himself to this in a normal state of mind.

“Richard! We need you for the rehearsal!”

“Fine. Don’t move,” he said, the last comment directed at Hannibal as he walked away.

Hannibal felt dizzy. He sat down slowly on the ground.

Not drunk. Spiked.

With growing terror, Hannibal looked around him. People rushed around, ignoring the confused shirtless man sitting on the ground. Any one of them could be a murderer, he knew very well, and in his hazy state he was in no position to identify, let alone fight, any of them.

  
And in that moment, he knew he had to get out.

“Excuse me.”

  
Anna stood behind him, holding up a long, furry, white coat, with a gold collar. It was terrible, but that wasn’t important right now.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him gently. At least in his head, he did it gently. With his combined recent decrease of motor control and confirmed strength, Hannibal yanked the girl and the coat into his arms.

“Ah, ah-”

“Shhhh,” he whispered, putting a finger to her lips.

“I need to get out of here. Will you help me?”

  
She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, and then back at Hannibal. He didn’t care about being judged anymore. It was all about survival now, his deluded mind told him. Surviiiiiiivaaaaaaaal.

“What?”

“If you help me get out, okay, I will, do something, for you.” His breath was coming heavy now. Hannibal was vaguely aware that nothing he was thinking made much sense, and also that he was now stroking Anna’s head like a cat.

“Are you okay?”

“No. Please listen to me.” And then he kissed her, very quickly, to make sure she was paying attention, even though she already had been.

“Are you listening?”

She nodded, wide-eyed.

“If you help me get out, I’ll owe you, a, uh, favor. And right now I can’t really explain but I promise, I promise, all right?”

Anna looked around. She was in the arms of an attractive shirtless man who was very obviously drunk, sitting on the floor backstage from a fashion show.

This was turning out to be the strangest Craigslist job she had ever accepted, and that was saying something.

She pulled Hannibal’s arms off of her, while he stared vacantly into space. She could tell Richard. But the thing is, she didn’t really like Richard. She had watched him hit on every male model ever since she got here, and now he had gone and brought back this poor drunk guy. And this poor drunk guy was very, very, very, attractive.

She made a decision.

Ah, what the hell. They were paying minimum wage anyway.

“Hey,” she tapped Hannibal’s shoulder to get his attention. She briefly considered kissing him, but no. “Follow me. I know where the exit is, okay? And put on the coat.”

He nodded conspiratorially and whipped the coat over his shoulders like a cape.

“Survivaaaal,” he hissed.

  
“Right, okay.”

  
Anna took his hand and lead him through the maze of makeup tables and clothing racks. No one was really paying attention to them, but Hannibal looked suspiciously from side to side, glaring at everyone who met his eye. In his head, there were enemies all around them. Very fashionably dressed, artsy, judgemental enemies.

They went through a door that lead to a hallway, and then through another hallway, maybe, Hannibal wasn’t really sure at this point, and then they were outside near the street. Anna released his hand and Hannibal stopped paying attention to her. He stared at the sky and thought about how very, very blue it was. So very gloriously blue. Like a panther.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Okay, I really wanted to show the way a random person would react to drunk Hannibal, and I also just love drunk Hannibal too much to not write about him.


	3. Chapter 3

Anna woke up in a strange bed. This was strange because she had clear memories of the previous night; a long taxi ride, being let into the house by the drunk or otherwise crazy man, making two cups of tea and, unable to find the man and unwilling to explore his house uninvited, drinking both of them, and then falling asleep on the couch.

From the sunlight streaming through the curtained windows Anna deduced that it was at least mid-morning. She hadn’t meant to sleep that long-she hadn’t meant to sleep at all, initially, but realizing that she was in Maryland in the middle of the night, hours away from her flat, she had decided to spend the night and then call a cab in the early morning, before he woke up. And unless the-What was that smell? Bacon?- was cooking itself, the man was definitely awake.

More curious than cautious-if he had wanted to murder her or rob her, he could have done so while she was sleeping-Anna looked around the room. Her bag was on the bedside table-unopened, she noted. Anna pulled out her pepper spray and slipped it into her pocket-because you can never be too careful, even with bacon-and followed the scent of breakfast.

—-

Hannibal stared at the phone in his hand. It was white, with a pink rhinestone case, and it was ruining his life.

When he had woken up and given himself a few few moments to think over the previous day, and then allowed several more moments to cringe and swear off fashion forever, the solution seemed simple: kill the girl, kill Richard, send them back to their families in the form of ‘sorry-for-your-loss’ pastries, thereby erasing all knowledge of the previous day’s trauma.

So he had gone ahead and chloroformed the sleeping girl, since he’d rather not get blood on his sofa if he didn’t have to, and then he saw the phone, almost offensive in its cheap, plastic, consumer appeal, lying among the cushions. He went through it to find several conversations over text, of her asking friends to pick her up from his address.

Hannibal contemplated killing her anyway, and then killing all of her friends as well. It was a bit blunt for his taste, though. Why kill when it’s more convenient not to? And she hadn’t broken his usual rules, either.

The only thing to do, Hannibal finally decided-the best thing to do-was to put the phone back and prepare for a strange morning after.

—-

The house wasn’t so much big as it was immaculate. Everything, from the carpet to the pictures on the wall, looked clean, elegant, and expensive. Anna decided that even if the man had picked up her wallet, he had probably rolled his eyes, put it back down, and gone back to planning his second parlor or whatever it is that rich, artsy-types do when they’re not counting their money or discussing rich people things.

She was immediately struck by the difference between the man she had rescued from a fashion show yesterday and the man who looked over his shoulder when she entered the kitchen. He seemed taller and larger, although she was sure he hadn’t grown overnight. He did not look like a man who was afraid often, or at all.

His smile reminded Anna of a shark.

“Good morning. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name yesterday.” His speech was clearer and more pronounced this morning. She still couldn’t place his accent.

“Anna. Hi. And I didn’t really catch yours either.”

He smiled again.

“Hannibal Lector. I would shake your hand, but-” he waved the frying pan in one hand and the knife in the other.

What an odd name, Anna thought but didn’t say out loud, at risk of offending her host. He was cooking bacon, in addition to what looked like a small breakfast banquet.

“Hello then. And sorry, I meant to leave last night, but it’s so far away, so I was going to leave this morning, but then I slept in … anyway, I’m sorry for imposing. And you don’t have to do,” she gestured at the kitchen, “all this.”

“Oh no, please. It is my way of apologizing. Yesterday, you must understand, I was not in a right state of mind, or I would never have been so …” He paused, moving the bacon around in the pan. “ … discourteous,” he finally said, carefully. 

Anna shook her head and leaned against the counter.

“Oh no. Richard’s a … a monster, is what he is. You know you’re not the first guy he’s drugged? I heard stories, from his crew. It’s the champagne. He sees an attractive man, drugs him half-asleep, and then lures him back home, like some sort of fucked-up gay fisherman. I was looking for an excuse to leave the entire night.”

Hannibal nodded. His back was to her, so she couldn’t see his face.

“I see. It is unfortunate we cannot do anything about people like him.”

“Yeah,” said Anna. Hannibal was plating the food from several different pans clustered around the stove. She knew she should go, but sight and smell of breakfast reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous day’s lunch. And he had already made so much food, and it did look very, very good.

—-

“ … and then I fell asleep on the couch, and I think you moved me to a guest room?”

They sat at one end of Hannibal’s dining room table, eating something that Anna could only identify as probably very expensive. In spite of the previous day, Anna had to admit that she felt like a princess, being cooking exotic food in a beautiful house.

Hannibal dipped his head.

“I’m sorry if I … overstepped myself. I was only trying to make you more comfortable.”

She shrugged.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Hannibal carries a certain atmosphere with him. He seems like the type of person who should have more money than other people, and who must dress better than other people. Anna wondered if the food would seem as rich or if the dining room as grand if they were not both so closely associated with him.

“May I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“When we got here last night. What did I say?”

“Uh. Well. You talked a bit about survival …”

He brought his hand up to rub his neck. Anna was pretty sure that was the Hannibal equivalent of a facepalm.

“ … but when we got inside you said that we were safe now, and that they couldn’t get us in here,” she finished.

“I see.”

Anna couldn’t tell if he was relieved or upset. It was embarrassing, of course, but she suspected he was too polite to show it.

He smiled.

“At least I did not come away empty-handed. I received a free coat and a new friend.”

Anna smiled back, realizing that she very much wanted to be Hannibal’s friend. She wanted everyone to know she was Hannibal’s friend. She wanted to put it on her resume.

“And I got a very, very good meal. The coat though.” Anna leaned in. “Maybe don’t wear it.”

“Agreed. It is hunting season.”

Anna wondered how old he was. Then she wondered if it mattered.

“Yesterday,” he said. “Before the taxi. I clearly remember promising you a favor.”

Anna gestured to the table.

“Done.”

He smiled and shook his head.

“No, this is just breakfast with a friend.”

“If this is just breakfast with a friend, then I obviously need better friends.”

“Regardless, my offer stands. I am in your debt.”

Anna stared.

**Author's Note:**

> God damn, I've been sitting on this one for months. I wanted to have it almost done before I posted it, so that people wouldn't have to wait ages for me to finish it. Well, here you go. The other chapters will be up very soon.


End file.
